Blue Jumpers
by M-Maltesers
Summary: Sometimes, Atobe's not perfect. Atobe/Yuuta


**Blue Jumpers**

Relationships aren't all fun and games. Yuuta knows this after many years tolerating Keigo's bad habits and irritating quirks. For all Keigo's confidence and his worldly knowledge, there are certain things that he does that only Yuuta could ever notice. He slips up, once in a while. Not noticeably to anyone else, but for just a moment sometimes, he's not Atobe-perfect.

It happens on a Sunday afternoon, in a department store. Keigo glances at a passing figure, not once, but twice. On the ground floor, in between the make-up counters, Yuuta catches him peering at a blue-sweatered man with broad shoulders and a rough, unshaven face.

A swift and well-placed kick brings Keigo's attention back to him, and Yuuta raises an eyebrow. It's a look that demands an answer, and Keigo doesn't fail to deliver.

"I was looking at his face, not his… other parts," Keigo says, attempting the flippant look. His eyes, however, dart back across the store to where the man is disappearing up the escalator to the menswear section.

"I think they have scarves on sale this week," Keigo mumbles, as he sets off for the escalator too. "I'll come back down in a minute. Just stay there," he orders.

Yuuta never listens to Keigo's orders. Present shopping for his sister quickly abandoned, he sets off after Keigo, being careful not to get too close. He only gets as far as the bottom of the escalator though, before a hand slaps his shoulder.

"Hey man, what's up?" A voice shouts loudly in his ear, and Yuuta spins on the spot.

"Hey…" he tries to sound enthusiastic. It's Atsushi and An, and Yuuta wishes he didn't have to look so rude, but he just really wants to chase after Keigo because… well… he knows what that distracted look on Keigo's face means. It's his distracted look; the look he reserves for things he wants and… people he's interested in. Yuuta's seen it before, but only ever because Keigo was chasing a business deal or an employee or an opportunity. Never just a man in a department store, which is altogether a different kind of interest.

Yuuta's chest feels tight as he tells his two friends that he'll call them later for a catch up. "I promise," he says as he stumbles onto the moving steps. He winces at the promise, which may or may not come to pass because he's not always good at catching up with anyone these days, but his mind is soon otherwise-engaged as he reaches the next floor.

There are moments in life when you feel the world stops, when you become aware of the pounding of the blood in your body, and the static in your ears. They are the moments you feel you're in a movie, and that everyone else knows what's happening but you.

Yuuta stares, frozen to the spot as he watches Keigo laughing, talking with the man. They're partially hidden by a rack of winter coats, but Yuuta sees the movement of Keigo's arm reaching up to touch the man's sweater.

A wave of weakness floods over Yuuta, and he feels his feet move – but doesn't really know why – towards the escalator to go back down a floor.

"Are you okay?" Keigo asks him, when he returns to the make-up counter a moment later.

Yuuta nods numbly. He's picked out his sister's favourite lipstick shade, and a couple of eye creams – all the rage at the moment, and flying off the shelves despite their high price tag – and Keigo gives his purchases the once over.

"Aren't you going to get them wrapped?" he asks, touching Yuuta's arm gently.

Yuuta instinctively flinches and pulls his arm away. The spot where Keigo touched him feels hot, and Keigo's fingers have left a sticky residue there.

"What's on your hand?" Yuuta frowns. "It's gross."

"It's that hand cream I tried before," Keigo snorts. "It's not _gross_. It's imported from France. It can't be gross."

Yuuta rolls his eyes and starts walking for the door.

Keigo grabs his hand, and Yuuta doesn't flinch this time. He's too angry to flinch, so instead he freezes. Just a few minutes ago, that same hand that now held his, was touching someone else's arm, and Keigo had been smiling. The memory of the smile plays havoc with Yuuta's thoughts. It was the smile that he'd thought was reserved for him.

Apparently, not.

(S)

Keigo's back is soft and hard at the same time. Yuuta thinks this as he lies in bed, nose buried in the ticklish hairs on the back of Keigo's head. Normally this would have make him sneeze, but he's worked out how not to breathe in Keigo's hair after all these years. It's a technique.

He's mad, for sure, but if there's one thing he's learned over the years, it's that love transcends all other emotions. He can be mad all he wants that Keigo was giving that smile to someone else in a department store next to a rack of coats, but at night, with all the lights in the apartment off and in the peace and quiet, he still gravitates to Keigo, and he still yearns to touch that familiar skin. Beneath his fingers, Keigo's skin bears some of the marks of their relationship; his moles have long since become old friends and his scars are memories of events passed. Unfortunate, fortunate, good, bad, unhappy, happy… all these things they shared together.

Yuuta sighs as he traces his hand down Keigo's side. Life really wasn't like it was in the movies at all, was it?

"I hate that jumper," he mutters, and thinks of imaginary ways to dispose of the sweater-wearing man. A truck would work, of course, but that would be messy. Maybe a rabid ferret attack? An accidental fall-into-the-killer-whale-tank job? "Such an ugly shade of blue," he continues. And then, realising that Keigo is fully asleep and won't wake up even if he were to recite a Shakespearean monologue, he asks irritably: "What was he, colour blind? Even _I_ wouldn't wear that stuff."

He huffs.

"You wouldn't wear what?" Keigo grumbles, as he shuffles around to face Yuuta.

"That jumper," Yuuta snaps, retracting his hand from Keigo's stomach. He crosses his arms in the bed and frowns at Keigo.

In the darkness, he's not even sure if Keigo can see his face. These days, his eyesight is pretty bad.

"The blue jumper?" Keigo asks hesitantly.

Yuuta, seizing upon the wariness in Keigo's voice, takes it as a sign of guilt. "Yeah," he snorts. "The blue jumper that you were _flirting_ with. I _saw_ you."

The blankets move and Keigo raises a hand to his forehead. Even lying down, he just has to be dramatic, Yuuta thinks irritably.

Keigo had let in a draught of cold air. Yuuta hurriedly pulls the blankets back up around his chin.

"I don't think you saw correctly," Keigo sighs, still with his hand to his head.

"I'm not the one with bad eyes," Yuuta snaps, and feeling the pricks of tears at his eyes, he turns over so Keigo can't see his face.

"Yuuta," Keigo's voice is cajoling, as though talking to a wounded child. His slips his hand back under the blankets – melodrama not being useful to him when the person it is aimed at isn't looking. His hand touches Yuuta's hip, and Yuuta ignores the tingle and the warmth to slap away the unwanted touch.

"I'm wounded," Keigo drawls sarcastically, and Yuuta instantly wants to turn around and put his fist into Keigo's nose. It's times like these that he remembers the acrimonious circumstances in which they'd met, and he remembers why he'd thought Keigo was a turd after all.

"Yuuta," Keigo sighs, and Yuuta knows this is the pivotal moment – the moment when the truth will come out or a lie will emerge instead. Mysteriously broken food processors, suddenly appearing sofas, light fittings that changed overnight and potted plants that were placed by fairies in spots where Yuuta was sure they'd agreed they didn't need plants… These were all pivotal moments. But not quite the same as this one.

"It was about the sweater," Keigo says.

"I know," Yuuta growls. "I saw it."

"No, I mean," Keigo huffs and in a swift movement, slides his hand around Yuuta's waist and pulls him backwards. "I mean, I wanted to know where he'd bought his sweater so I could buy you one too. I liked it."

"You liked that horrible sweater?" Yuuta asks, stunned.

"Of course," Keigo murmurs. His mouth is close to Yuuta's ear and the heat of his breath sends Yuuta's senses into tingly overdrive.

"It was so ugly, if I gave it to you, no one else would look twice at you ever again."

"So you want me to look ugly too," Yuuta almost squeaks.

Keigo's hand dances around Yuuta's stomach, and his finger trails a path around Yuuta's bellybutton.

"You know I'm not good at sharing," Keigo admits, though not in a very apologetic manner, Yuuta thinks. "Anyway, you can hardly criticise that. You don't exactly share either… case in point."

For a nanosecond, Yuuta thinks of protesting. But then, he thinks of the way Keigo's body fits perfectly around his as they lay together. He thinks of how he's seen every inch of Keigo's body and how he knows where all his freckles, moles, scars and 'embarrassing' bits re, how he knows Keigo's secret fears – the ones he confides at night time in the dark and almost in whispers at times – and how he likes to see Keigo's sleeping face in bed on a Sunday morning. He likes the fact that he shares none of this with anyone else.

Of all the people on the planet, he knows the most about Keigo, and Keigo about him.

"You know," he murmurs, and pulls Keigo's hand into his, "I think we should get you that jumper instead."


End file.
